I’m not a violent man. In fact, I’d say that growing up in the southern precincts of San Diego enabled me to appreciate the quieter pursuits in life, such as remaining anonymous and consequently, staying alive. My father, realizing that his three young sons were ripe for the “thug life” took it upon himself to move home and hearth further north, into the mean streets of Poway, California.
Technically, my brothers and I were the only Mexican’s in Poway that didn’t either pick avocados, clean houses or wash cars. The simple twist of fate that forced three urban hispanics into a white-washed world should have been enough to turn us into serial killers…but I digress.
Violence, while usually a means to an end, is only a temporary solution to life’s small inconveniences. Wipe out one worthless entity of inconvenience and a dozen more wait in the wings to push you to the brink yet again. These days, brutal honesty has replaced the physical need to pummel the ignorant into quivering masses of human jelly. The fact that I derive great pleasure torturing the ignorant can simply mean one thing…I am going to hell.
I am, by nature, as impatient as a 16 year-old girl awaiting a Back Street Boys concert. Take into account my inability to deal with the stupidity of those who inhabit my existence and you have a recipe for disaster. Every day of my now leisurely life, there is the potential for some act of brutal honesty that if timed right, can push someone to suicide, thereby relieving me from the need to kill them myself.
I like coffee almost as much as I like torturing the stupid. When I run out of coffee at home, I must venture to the local Starbucks to get my morning fix. It is when I must make this trip that I am afforded the opportunity to mix my two favorite pastimes into one fun-filled morning of malcontent.
This morning I had just such an opportunity and if I might say so myself, I took full advantage. See, the stupid like to hide among us like gerbils in the buttox of humanity. You know they’re there but have to force them to wriggle freely if you want to utilize their pleasure giving abilities. So, while standing in a line of about ten other caffeine-jonesing individuals, qeued up and ready to take our dose of Starbucks coffee like good catholics receiving communion, a waste of human skin (who by the way looked eerily like the creature from the Schwartzenegger movie PREDATOR in $500 suit) and obviously wasted brain cells, cut in front of everyone and stepped up to the mouse-like barista.
The rest of the meek minions in line were willing to forgive this moron his obvious faux pas but not I.
“Hey! Shit stain…yes, you! The end of the line is back there.” I said as sweetly as my caffeine deprived body would allow.
“Oh, I’m sorry…is this the line?” he said showing off his powers of perception.
“No, we’re just practicing for the San Francisco premier of A Chorus Line…we’re still looking for a lead though…can you dance?” I replied.
It was then that this man’s gerbil started to wiggle.
“Hey, look, I didn’t mean anything, I’m just in a hurry,” he tried.
“Hey, I totally understand! I mean you’re probably a brain surgeon, hustling to make a 9:30 appointment or something right?” I offered.
He looked to the rest of the crowd behind me for assistance. They, enjoying his discomfort, smiled at him.
“Well, er, no I just didn’t see the line is all…there’s no reason to be rude!” I smiled, sharklike, smelling the blood in the water.
“No, rude would be to possess the temerity to cut in front of a bunch of people who are, in my estimation, just as busy as you, with places to be and things to accomplish. Of course, we can follow implied directions like waiting in line to order and pay for coffee which places us higher on the evolutionary ladder than a gerbil-packing moron such as yourself.” I was beginning to find my rhythm.
“Okay, okay…look buddy, I said I was sorry okay? I’ll just get in line…” he wandered to the back of the line.
“Actually, no. What would make me happier would be for you to suddenly erupt in flame. But since spontaneous combustion is medical myth and whatever god watches over coffee shops seems to be on a break, I’m afraid it’s up to me to punish you.” I could feel the warmth from his blush.
“I…er, fuck it,” he said as he turned. He took one look back, perhaps marking me for future retribution. I, with nothing on my calendar, gave him my biggest gameshow host smile. He walked out the door and out of my range. The crowd giggled and the barista gave me a free Venti Caramel Macchiato.
Hey, maybe I’m onto something here…